"rebuttals" poems
"Stoner's Poem"
I see your snapstories,
I see your ask profile.
I see how you comment and reply and flaunt your English skills.
Trust me, I love your rebuttals,
More than Biryani and the Lebanese pornstar.
I see your Facebook posts,
I see your WordPress,
And I see, how you craft your poems flamboyantly,
And then, and then,
Pilfer my breath,
And rob my me.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Your deportment bewilders me,
More than Lowry-Bronsted's theory.
I see how you dance in the rain,
Like "All, sin, tan, cos", do in my brain.
I see how you frequent every segment of my cardiac muscle,
And then desert it, like it's one of the many dilapidated constructions.
My reminiscences about your thingness,
Escalate me to a higher spiritual level,
More than **** does.
Oh, that smile,
Oh, that look,
Oh, the mystique in you.
And again, I am writing of Love.
And the pen doesn't seem to stop soon,
For I have taken a greater risk,
Than asking my friend about cathodes and anodes and electrolysis, while I took my last chemistry exam,
When the invigilator was around.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 3:55 AM UTC
lustful and untrustful
screaming matches and rebuttals
worn out muscles and tear puddles
but what did we win, cards caving in
whichever way you try to spin
swan song on the violin
whichever play you do
your eyes get under my skin
I can see the hurt, the guilt, the shame
I tried to heal, build, and begin
again and again
return to my zen listening to Gwen
escape to my four white walls and write songs
each melody washes away the pain of yesterday
each harmony bringing back the colour to the gray
lifeless self I let my body become
dancing to the beat of my own drum
Feb 7, 2022
Feb 7, 2022 at 12:58 PM UTC
I feel so out-of-touch and small talk seems out of reach.
Are my thoughts worth airing? Maybe its better to not speak.
See, lately I've been thinking. More so than usual.
And its come to my attention that my attention is unusual.
I can't believe it took me this long to realize
just how egocentric I can be.
A fourth of my life is gone and its always been about me.
I know and acknowledge that you're a person too
but something has changed and I feel like I can't talk to you.
Where once it was effortless, now conversing is difficult.
Instead of truly listening I'm preparing my rebuttals.
It isn't that I don't care.
It isn't that I'm disinterested.
But it feels like my volume knobs got ****** up and I can barely listen.
Why is my head louder than reality?
It's exhausting to focus on anyone but me.
Truly a self-serving, self-centered friend I am.
Sorry.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:22 AM UTC
Crawl crawl
Burning through
Obsessions
Rotten stew
Crawl crawl
Through the pain
Remission
Is a joke
And life was a game
But is a remainder
of screwups and screwdowns
Crawl Crawl
Burning through
Possessions
Deadbeat crew
Crawl crawl
Forgotten stains
Permission
Is always denied
And rebuttals dumped
In trash cans full
of screwups and screwdowns
Drilling a hole
Finding geodes where a core was
Cold and dark and empty
Drilling a hole
Finding loneliness inside
It is who you are
Extinguished supernovae
Could have contained
And still the darkness would have stayed
Crawl crawl
burning through
your house of cards
melting all definitions
You're a screwup
Still alive
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
you are my forbidden fruit
so sweet until the notes of bitter bubble up
so perfect for me until your other side shows up
duality, inability
to see beyond your own body, beyond your own needs
what am I to you?
what am I if I do or don't?
you tried to tie me down, tried to quiet my own
voice, displeased with my need for reciprocity
to engulfed in your hypocrisy
I almost lost me, in your rapids, distractions
too many factors, actors, and games
too much struggle, rebuttals, and vain
so much vanity you drove me insane
and I have never driven a day in my life
Nov 12, 2021
Nov 12, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
What is my mother like?
Perhaps she is a bespectacled story weaver
knitting tales that stretch the imagination.
That would explain my itch to write.
What if she is a food critic wielding a pen
dishing out opinions and parrying rebuttals.
That would explain my desire for food.
What if she is a state- of-the-art Neurologist
stretching the frontier of the dream state.
That would explain my desire for sleep.
But what if she isn’t.
What if she sleeps all day, drinks sake all night,
doesn’t miss me, forgets to kiss her husband, doesn’t have a husband
needs her sons help, is throwing away another child.
One of my siblings.
How many sisters do I not know? How many brothers have slipped between the cracks?
My yellow mother
won’t ever know me.
I don’t want to know her.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
here we go again
i **** my head
and ready my
mouth to fire
back
rebuttals.
the smoke of
silence,
following
your verbal
onslaught
pours through
my pores
and pulls
my
trigger.
the anger-driven
bullets
fly fast and
pick apart
your metal
heart.
your eyes grow
heavy and shaky.
there's sorrow and
violence tucked behind
them.
part of me is
frightened.
part of me
is aching
for return
fire.
your volley is
scattered.
as if you are grasping
for straws.
desperate to wreck
me
for the
sheer
drama
of the event.
i drop my gun.
give peace a chance, i suppose.
i turn, decide
it's
time
to
go.
but before i retreat
you ask me,
"how many others have you said
i love you to?
this is you at your most masochistic.
the answer is an automatic grenade
to the heart.
you know that.
yet you ask that.
"four"
i lie.
the number is much higher.
"who were they?"
god,
you're just asking
for it.
i **** my head
and we go
to war.
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:26 PM UTC
TO: athens
you are a boy born to argue,
confrontation stuck between your gritted grin.
TO: athens
see, a long time ago, before i met you,
i spent far too much of my time apologizing,
minimizing, shrinking my words down until they were fine print.
i was born shy, tongue-tied,
but around you, i am out spoken.
eloquent, concise, not backing down.
TO: athens
and see maybe that’s a bad thing,
two head strong orators always talking over each other.
TO: athens
but i always like who i am with you
TO: athens
an argument
for the sake of argument,
for the sake of laughing over each other’s rebuttals,
for the sake of starting conversation,
for the sake of digging around in your heart
TO: athens
i have never disagreed with someone so much
and still liked them this much at the end of the conversation
TO: athens
i want to argue with you for the rest of my life
TO: athens
when i am tipsy and loud and laughing and leaning too close
to you on the couch,
and drunk enough to see the stars in your eyes
through any of the light pollution,
i imagine if i kissed you it would taste like franzia.
TO: athens
you are easy but i always try too hard
TO: athens
no, baby, you are impossible
and i know i’m ****** and difficult, but you and me?
that’s easy. **** that’s easy.
TO: athens
i used to think of love as frantic, thrumming,
and then i met you and realizes it could sneak up on you,
quiet and comfortable and unnoticed
until it’s everywhere
and you don’t know how to scrub out the stains
TO: athens
you make me smile, simple as that
TO: athens
and to catch your eye across the room,
the laughter still stuck in my throat, maybe that’s what
i’ve been searching through other people for.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
David was born in a dreary wee spot
By the side of the mill in the dabbler's lot
His dad was a dabbler, all his long life
And his mother excelled as a dabbler's wife
When he grew to adulthood they 'prenticed him quick
Til he earned his diploma and dabbling stick
All day he would labour, at this and at that
In the tinkerer's workshop, upright or out flat
But his sunny demeanor was waxing and cracked
As in secret, he yearned for a thing which he lacked
For a life with out borders, impulsive and free
Where he'd live as a dolphin and leap through the sea
His mother had cried when he told of his dream
And his father was dead set against the whole scheme
There were tantrums, rebuttals and guilt trips galore
But young David was stubborn and made for the door
For the safety and warmth of the bus out of town
With a confident furrow entrenched in his frown
He tarried in places with odd sounding names
And confounded the groom of a good many dames
There were taverns and zoos where they'd shoot him on sight
So he took to decamping by cover of night
The journey was arduous, torrid and bleak
But he made it to Blackpool just shy of a week
The pier was bustling, jammed to the brink
But our David was not one to buckle or blink
He charged at the crowd with a deafening wail
They scattered, retreated and showed him their tail
When stood on the edge and admiring the weather
He casually cling-filmed his ankles together
Now hopping along like a fish out of water
He dived to his dream like a lamb to the slaughter
The moral should not be too taxing to spot
Be content with whatever you've currently got
Because sometimes a cloud is just low flying steam
And the universe gives not a crap for your dream
Washed up on the beach with a terminal chill
Lies Delusional David of Dabbler's Hill
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC
I shed tears of ink
For the voiceless.
I am the only link
To the hopeless.
For the poor I scribble
In love and solidarity,
to highlight the struggle
and do an anthem of poverty.
For the poor and marginalized,
I speak power to the validity,
I bring awareness for those victimized
to quench the thirst of brutality.
I can flow like a mighty fountain
In the face of mistreatments.
I crawl valleys and climb a mountain
In times of impediments.
I can leak useful information
In the cause of injustice.
I can write a memo for a demonstration
On behalf of disgruntled masses.
I am the defibrillator of broken hearts
and the hope of the downtrodden.
I can write love poems and draw arts
Just to motivate and embolden.
I have signed many peace treaties,
and declarations of independence.
I have been used to get properties
And I have been used for vengeance.
I am the weapon of choice for intellectuals
and the shield of protection against violence.
I am the stamp of instant rebuttals
and the glitch of terrestrial intelligence.
#IvanBrookspoetry © #Bassapoet
8-22-2019
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 5:30 AM UTC
Vice President Boss
The call centre VP boss flew from America to Thailand
She’d been in sales 20 years and knew it all
From presenting to rebuttals to fronting and closing
This was why she was the big boss and flew to Bangkok
One of the reps said to his pals take her to a Go Go bar!
See how her ******* twist and if she can drink and grind
Would you **** her another asked? Of course he replied
They got the business meetings over and official stuff
Including signing the new contract for another year
Then it was time for a team dinner with pizza and Pepsi
There were many photo ops for the website
Later they all went to a ***** Twister bar for fun
She paid for seven buckets of beer and more food
Music played dancing gals danced hookers hooked
A couple of the lads got bjs then and there
Others went back to private rooms with bargirls
The Yankee boss nodded to the TL and a rep
She took their hands grabbed some beers
And they all went to a room to make love!
What ensued in the ***** Twister bar stayed there
Had she done this before or was it the first time?
None of this would appear on the company site!
Oct 4, 2023
Oct 4, 2023 at 9:13 PM UTC
she barged so uninvited in my space,
so futile were my palms and outstretched arms,
forbidding her from entering my place,
mistrusting her that she may bring me harm,
rebuttals--counterpunches to my claims
that she was just another soulless ghost--
had penetrated fences, and her aims
to win my heart succeeded more than most,
but here we are almost a year from then,
i've pushed her off, she shares her heart with one
not me, but one who seems above all men,
and i have lost where once i thought i'd won,
now i'm the one who's barging in her space,
my own rebuttals falling in disgrace
(C)2012, Christos Rigakos
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
i wonder how your disco ball girl would feel about a night like this
all my friends say we aren't in the same scene and i am embarrassed to be seen with you but i love the way you button your shirt and the way you are when your stomach hurts
my feelings are raw meat and hard to chew and i drink a bottle of wine in case i'm left alone with you
ten typos later and i have tears in my tights and stains on my lips
melancholia is a mediocre movie and the truest feeling i can muster
i let a boy in through the back door and forget he was ever there aside from the fact that there is long hair clogging my shower drain and the shower in your parent's house is the smallest space i've ever been in
my friends feel violated by the whistle of a teakettle and i spent the evenings of a man speaking gibberish on top of a washing machine
he was wearing a three piece suit with a piece of wheat in the breast pocket and either he was walt whitman or the end of the summer
what have i got to lose
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:25 PM UTC
It's not the amount of time I've been loving you
One could not describe the emotional pleasure you put me through
If whatever my dying wish could be true
I would only wish to never stop loving you
My love for you runs deeper than most oceans
But is as wide as the sea
As I know love should be mutual
It would hurt if you felt the same about me
Cause I wanna smother you in love
Cause you are my misses
Sometimes being in you're presence feels better than your kisses
When I'm with you my heart stops
Blood rushes to my brain
My thoughts go mental
Makes me feel insane
But there is no pain
It's just forever flowing warmth
And it will never stop, not even when you leave my arms
I can't explain why I care so much for you
Einstein couldn't either
I block out all the negativity
When I'm with you there are no other people
No he say she say
No smart rebuttals
Cause When I am with you there are no others
And even if there was
There opinions on our love wouldn't be true
Cause no matter what they say
There is nothing they could do
They could me mad forever
Cause I'm forever loving you"
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
I am settled in the arugula palace
Everybody in the same scattered image
Seeking reconstruction or construction of the mind
I write this for myself to be unwinded & unrolled
He's a shifting plane of bisecting geometries
Now a thin woman shuttling kids in a minivan
Smoking newport cigarettes & feeling mucous gather in the sore spot in her throat. Her husband who is overworked & penniless--a clown frozen in a shipping container underneath a hi-low. He is fetching up the scraps of industry from inside a concrete bottle. He is messing with the intersecting circles coming off the streetlights. He is stacking up assumptions, wishing to be freed. Wishing he could reach that frightened child-monkey loser in the parking lot. He is clawing @ sensations he will never be able to name. He is secretly wishing for a vision. Secretly wishing to be known. He is tied & tethered to the clean-up crew. They are silent pretenders nodding at the recycling bins--never emptied. There he is formatted. There his eyes go staring out. There a picture--but what's a picture now that it's all beyond control, no longer static, no longer a container or reminder but rather a cloud passing, a moment's pause, a temporary fascination? A posing, a posturing, a big a-Ha!--fuck you! Stranger. You are not a part of me. The danger is madness. The danger is control. There are no static images. No peaches. No penumbras. No mandalas, maps, organizations or rebuttals. There is only standing water in the basement. There is only diet pepsi car keys hanging on the edge of a golden cloudburst.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Act one, scene one
Decide your stance
Get a glimpse now
See us freaks
Ohhhhhhhhh!
You act like depression is a game
Two cards and a loss
Gamble the odds of life and death
We’re all a bit crazy
Hiding in the mirror,
Hiding in the mirror
You act like depression is a game
But you never took it seriously
You never took me seriously.
You doubt me, you think I’m a freak
(But you’re not wrong)
So play my game
You’ll never be the same.
But now the noose is round my neck
And I’m ready to go to hell.
You act like depression is a game
But just wait ‘till the world forgets my name.
Wanna see a magic trick?
I’ll leave the world
Give me 20 seconds and
I’ll leave the world.
You’re gonna cleanse the world from us freakshows,
But what you don’t understand
I’ve got the universe in my hands
Moving yo’ ******* like chess pieces
The freaks make it happen
We make it happen.
Oh, you were sick from the start
Categorizing all that you see
But as long as you keep judging,
You won’t know the first thing ‘bout me
Some people hide behind labels
People like me show the world.
And all your rebuttals
The things that don’t make sense
And we know
We know
We know.
The warfare that claims us all!
Middle fingers up, let’s go!
Join me, all you freak shows
Druggies and all
***** and all
Daddy issues and all!
Calling all freakshows.
Yeah we just want to die
We just wanna die
No one wants to ******* die!
You condemn me for what I say
You just want me to shut the **** up
Bite my tongue off, mouth full of blood
I bite my tongue, you bite my lip
A mouthful of saliva, you can’t even handle me
***** don’t speak to me
You’re obsessed with ***
And no one checks
Where’s your morality?
I take a breath, a single breath
As I feel your bones rise off my chest
What a relief it is that you’re just like me.
This is your song, little angel
Only because you’re a freakshow, too.
So as depression calls my name,
I’ll make sure you remember my name.
So bow down!
***** bow down!
You thought this depression was a joke
So make me happy
Make me happy
Just another *****
Just another pitch
And just wait
Sensor, sensor
Sensor the children
Sensor your mouth
Don’t be obscene
Issues, issues
Lord knows I’ve got em.
My heads spinning like a go round’
I’ve been round
I’ve been here
Call me crazy ‘cause I dare speak
Hush my mouth, little mama, I don’t wanna speak
Call me a freak
Make me a freak
All I want to be is a freak
Freak
Freak
******* freakshow
So join me
Join me
Bring me your depression
Bring me your noose
Bring me your lust
Bring me your knives
Bring me your problems
And I’ll show you a mother ******* freakshow!
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 5:16 PM UTC
she woke up in denial, went to work with her anger, decided to change her life by lunch, then, when dinner rolled around, had given up on the idea of change completely, and on dinner. After she had cursed at the moon for being so romantic, she used up all her hot water, showering, but mostly thinking of rebuttals to conversations she had, had with co-workers earlier or where about to have, it pays to be prepared she would say.
She dried off un easy in her easy chair and listen to billy holidays ‘’All or nothing at All’’, ‘’but not for me’’ was her favourite song, she made sure to play it over twice, first time to enjoy the song, the second time to wallow’s in it. And when she had well and truly felt like crap, she had decided she ought to get to bed, after all she had to get up in 4 hours.
But lately someone had seemed to put rocks in her bed, which meant sleep would likely be not an option and she would likely be up late with talking with her thoughts. in this time she liked to sort out the clutter in her head, putting together perfect scenario’s that would end with her wealthy and famous, but more frequently she would seem together a story about a perfect man she could confide in, someone who will calm her down when angry and likes her the way that she is. She holds on to that story, no, she demands it.
Like most the morning brings no change, neither dose the next. The same album, the same time, with the same song and the same shower with the same hypothetical conversations. Day in and day out. She repeats this cycle for 7 months on and off with occasion brakes every now and then. after all, try as you might, you can’t be ****** off 12 months a year.
At the end of the day, are satin doll is stuck in a cycle of shelf pity, and until someone comes along to tell her this or she realises her shelf, she will continue like this. A modern-day Sisyphus. Rolling a bolder up a hill only to have it roll back at the end of the day.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
i. he peers down at the empty void
he has yet to create and he hesitates;
fingertips tremble at the calm and the
unknown and he can’t tell if it is dark
or if it is beautiful
ii. what creates also destroys.
strength and beauty go hand in hand,
the darkness cries out; *when did you
decide i was not strong enough to shine?*
and he weeps for what he has done.
iii. “look what i made for you,” he says
to the darkness, “there is life here. it is
beautiful.” but the darkness says nothing.
it fades behind the mountain peaks.
*what is beauty worth to me when i cannot
stay long enough to see it?*
iv. he knows what it’s like to be alone,
so he does the best that he can. “look
what i made for you,” he says to the
darkness. “i made this new life for you.”
the darkness says nothing, but it smiles,
and the stars begin to speak to it.
v. he knows what it’s like to be alone,
and now it’s the only thing he knows.
the darkness is gone, he only has light.
“light is good,” he thinks. “but it is not beautiful.”
i may not be beautiful, light rebuttals,
but i can show you all that is.
vi. you have created so much life, light says
but what about creating a life for yourself?
he could do so, but he does not want to. instead,
he creates what is second best: everything he ever
hoped to be, with flesh and blood and two legs and
two feet. “this one is special,” he says.
it reminds me of you, the darkness whispers.
vii. light dips away and the darkness returns,
but it is not distracted by its new friends: the
sun, the moon, the stars, the galaxies;
instead, it engulfs him and all of his weariness.
rest, the darkness whispers. *you have made
so much beauty already.*
his eyes close.
he remembers the void.
he knows now.
it was dark.
it was dark, and god, it was
beautiful.
Jun 11, 2016
Jun 11, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
God is neither an 'it', nor a 'who'
At odds with religions and people too.
Is, was and will always be – they say
Kneeling, prostrating, devoted, they pray.
God isn’t a deity, an idol or divine
Nor dwells in temples or craves for a shrine
Oft summoned over rebuttals, belike;
By mono, poly and atheism alike.
God is the perpetual rain that can fall
Over the cold and unkind hearts of us all.
Soaking them in hope and flooding them with light,
Kindling the love and rinsing the spite.
God is the credo people should be told,
To be gentle with young, polite with old,
Kind to parents, loving to wife,
To be loyal to friends and call it a life.
Mortal is a universal axiom, hitherto.
God is a paradox, just waiting to be true.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 4:50 PM UTC
You were arguing with someone who didn't exist
Your rebuttals were interrupted
but I hear no voices persist
What world have you constructed?
What perception is needed for this?
Unseen monsters trail your shadow
painting scenes with stolen hues
How could you ever know?
time is a ****** full of blue
Some creatures need a potent distraction
one absent of a conflicting reality
Some fade into glowing contraptions
minds unaware of a virtual duality
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 2:41 AM UTC